Alexander Macedonia

when I walk into the room there's nothing you can do
To stop me from making moves
I'm coming for you

The rigidity of the ivory warhorse was nothing if not incredibly palpable, particularly with Alexander's physique near throw against the stallion's neck. His fingers dug fiercely into the steed's mane as he strove to keep his purchase, his palm pressed firmly over that violet eye. How aware he was of that silence, his own baritone voice the only break in that poised stillness. How quickly he shifted from language to language, Alexander utilizing every syllable he could that might break through the frenzied mind of his steed. It was subtle, that slight pivoting of his steed's ears, and yet it was enough to show the Macedonian that he had achieved his goal. He could feel Frost's sides expand, only for the horse to audibly exhale in a trembling breath. Slowly, he could feel that tension leave Frost's frame, the horse clearly attempting to make some effort to take stock of himself as the were-horse's thoughts pressed into his head. Although he was well aware of the damage done to his steed, he said little of it as the rustling of feathers once again provoked that worrisome tenseness to his stallion's muscles. It was only that promise that he was here, that he would fix things, that seemed to give some level of reassurance, even if neither man might acknowledge it.

Frost's inquiries, however, prompted a small shake of Alexander's head, the man shifting as best as he could to reach for the bridle that had become entrapped beneath him as he informed Frost of his newfound ability. He was hardly surprised by the dubiousness of Frost's voice, that deadpan disbelief quite near mimicking his own upon the initial sprouting of those appendages. It was only once his fingers curled around the rope of the bridle that he tugged gingerly upon the strap, directing the were-steed to slowly turn his head if only to better view those very wings that had prompted such panic within the stallion. That uncertainty within Frost's tone was hardly lost upon the Hunter and yet, he certain that seeing those wings would help to ease the anxiety that permeated through the stallions soul. Cautiously, Alexander removed his palm, light once again filling Frost's field of vision before the steed was presented with that singular, magnificent wing. That placidity within the stallion was, admittedly, a relief. Alexander was more than willing to allow Frost that moment to adjust to the newfound discovery, those feathers ruffling gently in the stormy winds with each subtle movement.

It was only once he was certain that Frost would no longer return to that bucking frenzy that the Monarch slid from the saddle near effortlessly, despite the distance between Frost's back and the ground. He took several steps back, the oceanic hue of his irises intensely observing his stallion in all of his newfound glory. It was, however, the saddle that drew the weight of his attention. Even he was not oblivious to the awkward way it sat upon the stallion's back. Those straps ill-adjusted for the presence of wings. Later, back within the comfort of Sacrosanct, they would have to fashion something far more...permanent, he was sure. His inquiry of how the saddle felt, however, only confirmed that which he had already expected, the Hunter momentarily concerned of the damage that rubbing of leather could do, if left that way for long. A soft breath exhaled from his lips as he nodded briefly. "We can tie some cloth against it, for now, to help with the rubbing." He commented, hardly wanting Frost to acquire a sore when he so needed the stallion to perform. Admittedly, the saddle was hardly the only thing upon his mind, that wing, after all, required his attention. There was little way to get back up that mountain without the usage of Frost's wings and Alexander blatantly refused to be out of the race, not yet. It had only just begun.

His announcement that he intended to look at the damaged wing seemed to immediately garner Frost's attention, even as Alexander crossed out of the equine's vision. It had taken distinct work to get the steed to trust him when it so came to the blindside, Alexander hardly desiring to test that faith now. His hands reached out tenderly to take the wing within his fingers, even in spite of that reflexive jerk from the steed. "Shhh." He murmured softly, though it was more out of habit than any true need to assage his mount's anxiety. After all, Frost had calmed...remarkably sense they'd fallen onto the valley floor. "It...isn't the worst. It's healing but I don't know if you can fly with it." Alexander fell silent for a moment, simply watching Frost's body at work, his lips pressed together in a tight line as he considered their options. It was several moments of long silence before he released his hold upon the steed, only to step back towards the side he knew Frost could see him in. "Transfer your wound to me. We need your shoulder more than mine right now...I'll heal it overnight all the same just let me fix the saddle first."

He had already begun to move towards the saddle and the bag tied to it, if only to look for something that might assist in the endeavor when Frost's thoughts once again pressed into his mind. "We won't use them for the race, just to get us back up the hill." He clarified, entirely determined to prove his horsemanship without the advantage that Frost now offered him. Pride, it seemed, was eternally his downfall. It was his name upon Frost's thoughts that prompted a small grunt from the man as he dug through the saddlebag, the Hunter hardly bothering to hesitate in his efforts as he responded. "Yes, you can fly with them. No, they're not my doing. No, my other horses couldn't fly and I plan to find out." It was only the last part that saw him pause, his gaze narrowing ever so slightly. There was not a doubt within his mind that Matteo had known this would happen...and yet the Frenchman had clearly allowed it. The damn fae in their impishness. His eyebrow twitched, that annoyance entirely palpable even as he pulled an extra pair of socks from his bag. They were hardly akin to a saddle blanket but, being the thickest material they had on hand, it was the best he could do at the present moment.

He reached towards the leather straps, fiddling with them around the joint of the wing before tying the first sock in a knot around where the leather brushed against the steed's flesh. "Try to focus on just feeling them, the bones within them, the muscles surrounding them. Start with just trying to tighten and relax those muscles before you try to move your wings. They should behave just like your tail." He commented as he worked, his hand briefly brushing alongside Frost's shoulder, across the steed's chest, and towards the opposite shoulder, letting his hand remain as that reminder of his presence even upon the horse's right side as he afforded this strap the same level of attention. It was only once he was certain they would hold, and at least minimize that discomfort enough for them to get back up on the mountain, that he stepped back. "Okay, Frost, I'm ready. I want to figure your wings out and get on the mountain by nightfall. With the wind whipping through here, we don't want to be down here when it's dark." Already the rain was making things...difficult enough, that plastic jacket hardly warming or keeping the hunter comfortable, that fall from the valley side having served to soak the Macedonian when Frost's affinity for warm had failed in the sheer panic of it all. God, he couldn't wait for this incessant storm to just be over.